handlebars
by Axletia Rosonetis
Summary: Lucien questions his dad's choice in friends. (game: Dream Daddy)


_handlebars_

Lucien stared up at his dad on the old Victorian bicycle - hands gripping on the handlebars for dear life, lip biting down so hard that the teeth should've busted right through, a single, elegant orchid sticker sticking on Lucien's old skull-and-bones helmet – and thought this was the stupidest idea. That bicycle belonged in a museum, not under the ass of a forty-something-year old man who, for most of Lucien's childhood, pissed his pants because he kept thinking that Noseferatu was real every time the garage door made that funny groaning noise.

He didn't even know how to ride a bike. Why did they think that learning how to ride on _this_ was a good idea?

Then again, they were never known for _good_ ideas. Brilliant or cunning, maybe, but never good.

The teenager side-eyed the pair of adults smoking next to his dad, giving him what he assumed was encouraging advice. Mary was clapping him on the back, laughing, and Robert had that all-too familiar smirk plastered on his face as he crossed his arms, trying to hold back a chuckle of his own. Lucien knew that he got into his fair share of trouble – it was part of his brand as an angsty, self-destructive teenager – but he was honestly surprised neither of them had any felonies yet. At least, none that he knew of. One day he half-expected half of the cul-de-sac sitting around planning an Ocean's Eleven in their humble, little shack, with his dad as the stupid, naïve pawn.

No, he should've had better faith in his dad. Silently return the faith favor and all that.

"Okay, so what you're gonna do," Mary's suave, deep voice suddenly rung through Lucien's ears, map in hand, "is do wheelies at these potholes that Hugo marked for you. It'll slow your momentum enough so you don't wipe out and you look cool enough that you don't look like you're chickening out. If you wanna hang out with us, you gotta look cool enough."

"And don't use your brakes while going too fast," Robert added. He pointed to his neck. "Back before the war, I used the brakes too fast while going down one of the paths in the Appalachians, and I nearly broke my neck. Still get neck pains every now and then. Gettin' too old."

Mary waved a hand in dismissal. "Robert's weaker than he looks, but he's right. If you brake too fast, you're gonna fly halfway across the town, and it's not gonna be fun for you. Since the doctors don't like us too much, we'd have to make up a good excuse bringing you in."

Lucien raised an eyebrow, wondering what kind of shenanigans those two had gotten in to make the nicest doctors in the world, let alone town, hate them. Mary did have four children that were all mischievous, and he heard that Robert's own daughter was a hellfire when she was a kid. Doubting that the kids were the reason for the doctors' animosity, though, he saw Mary pull something out from the back of Robert's truck. A long, plastic bag.

What she pulled out from the bag was a white, silk cape with the number 1 embroidered in the American flag colors. An Evel Knievel cape. Lucien's stomach did a 360 as she fastened it around his dad's neck. "This ca- excuse me, this cloak is a good luck charm bestowed upon only the gifted and those with the brightest potential. It's not Victorian-era, but I did snag it from my dad's when I was clearing out some old stuff for him. Circa 1970-odd."

Blushing lightly with a smile, his dad mumbled a soft "thanks". His own cheeks flustered when Robert returned a toothy grin and placed his rough hands on his dad's shoulders. For some reason he felt that with him he might be…flirting. Ew. "We believe in you, Dam Damien. You're gonna make us proud, or we're gonna be out a couple grand at the track. Now…I don't want to alarm you, but some urban legends say that sometimes ghosts haunt this particular road."

His dad gulped, trying to maintain his nerd persona composure. "G-ghosts?"

"But don't worry, man, if any try to come after you, I have my gun in my truck. You're the safest guy in town," Robert shrugged, "unless you die, of course."

Mary pointed a finger at him. "Hey, we get double if he stays alive, you asshat. Damien, dear, just think as positive as you can. If you die, I promise we won't sell your house and everything in it until at least six months after your untimely demise. And Robert will promise to teach your son how to be a ghostbuster so he doesn't grow up to be a youth minister."

"Uhhh…thanks, Mary."

This time Robert couldn't stifle his chuckle, echoed by Mary's cackling as she lightly pushed his dad on the back. Straightening his back to full height, he took it as a signal and nodded, turning his head to Lucien. When their eyes locked, Lucien bit on his lip piercing and his shoulders tensed. Oh, no. No. He might've acted like he didn't care, but he loved his dad, and he didn't want his dad's last gestures to him be nerdy.

He raised his hand.

Lucien restrained himself from widening his eyes.

His dad's fingers crossed into a peace sign.

What a nerd.

A loud groaning sound came from beneath him as he smacked his forehead. He didn't want to watch, but he knew his dad wouldn't make it far. And he was right. The man zigzagged down the steep path for a few seconds, Evel Knievel cape – cloak – fluttering in the wind.

And then the cloak became entangled over his head and freaked.

He shut his eyes right before his dad fell headfirst off his bike and began tumbling down the road. He felt Mary's arm wrap around his back, her hand gently patting him. Then, opening his eyes he saw Robert sighing as he leaned against his truck and gestured with his thumb to inside. "I got my first-aid kit in there. You got the booze?"

Mary smirked, pointing to her convertible. "Do I ever leave home without it?"

"Y'know, the cops are gonna get you one day."

"Who's gonna rat me out, my husband?"

"You guys are monsters!"

They both turned. Lucien balled up his fists, a trickle of blood coming from where he bit his lip too hard. He couldn't believe he was doing this. Standing up for his dad? Well, it's not like his dad ever did anything wrong, nor did he ever treat him anything less than fantastic. It was just the principle of being an asshole teenager. If his dad ever found out he was being… _nice_ , it would ruin the image he'd painstakingly created for himself over the past few years.

Well, rip him.

"You just led your friend to ride a bike like that!" he snapped. "You knew he didn't know how to ride a bike but encouraged him to do it like this anyway! When your kids learned how to ride a bicycle, did you teach them this way?!"

"Oh, God, no," Mary scoffed, disgusted. "Do you think I'd ever expose my own children to such danger without making sure that they at least got their injuries from something worthy?"

"She had Craig teach them," Robert provided.

"What about Old Man Joseph?"

Mary shook her head. "He can barely drive his own stickshift, let alone ride a bicycle. And I can ride a bicycle, but my technique's too advanced to teach my kids. I was thinking maybe having a ramp built in the backyard next summer. They need to learn some daredevil tricks sooner or later." She tightened his grip on his back, rubbing it. It was…comforting. "Don't worry about your dad, though, Lucien. He wouldn't've asked us if he knew you weren't watching. Always wanting to impress his son."

"Yeah," Robert agreed, chuckling. "If you weren't watching, we would've went harder on him. We would've brought Craig _and_ Brian."

"Between the two of them, they would've broken him into two."

"Yeah. You wanna get that booze?"

"I'm always ready."

She rubbed Lucien's back one more time and left him to stare down the road where his dad was, somewhere. Somehow his worries for his dad decreased in half. At the very least, he wasn't dead…and he was wearing all of the safety equipment for a cyclist. Compared to most of the other dads in here, he probably also got into the least mischief.

Still…his dad really did have terrible friends.


End file.
